Cats and Dogs

I had similar conversation recently with both Countrygirl and Polly Poppins, and what it comes down to is this. There are two kinds of kids in this world. There are your puppy kids—the ones who clamor all over you looking for attention and affection and will do just about anything to get it. And there are your cat kids—the ones who might, if you’re lucky, deign to cuddle with you. But it’s on their terms, when they feel like it, and only after you’ve passed their rigorous selection process.

Let’s take my nieces for example. Last time I was at their house, Emilie kept following me around the house, giving me her most winning smile, looking hopefully up at me and saying, “Mama?” with her arms outstretched so I’d pick her up. She’s willing to go through her whole bag of tricks, simultaneously if necessary, to get you to love her. My sister had this dog, and if you took out a treat, she’d go through every trick she knew until you gave it to her. You didn’t have to say a word. She’d roll over, sit, and beg in rapid succession, figuring one of those had to be what you were looking for, and going through them all would get her the treat faster. That’s Emilie. She gives it away for free. We’re hoping she’ll outgrow that tendency before puberty, but that’s another story.

And then you have Ella. I love my Ella. You all know that. But she’s got enough attitude for the entire cast of Mean Girls. None of her uncles are allowed to touch her. Not one. They can talk to her, but she’s not going to respond. Or even acknowledge that they’re speaking. I’m one of her favorite people, and she just flat-out refused to say my name until she was 2. When she met my roommate, I told her, “This is Jodie. Can you say Jodie?” She looked at me and said, “Jodie. Jodie. Jodie.” And then kissed her. The little bitch. She’s a total cat.